Last in an Interminable String of Hallucinations!

And then I dreamt that I was a little girl, about seven or eight in a really remote Southern outback. There was a clearing, ringed all around by a vast swmp (the Everglades?) And in the middle of the clearing was a broken down rusted out pick up truck and  a very ramshackle tower that was barely standing. It was made of scraps of plywood and particle board and it was open on a couple sides. there was a ladder in the interior; I think this structure was used as a lookout for hunting or to see if anyone was coming. I was all alone and sort of trying to entertain myself, humming and picking up sticks. I was pretty lonely and aware of that. I looked out one of the openings and I saw a bear. I was scared so I began to call out, hoping someone would hear and schase the bear off. A few minutes went by and then I realized I wasn't alone; there was a young man, (somewhere between 15 to 20 years old?) but he wasn't helping. He looked disgusted and was talking under his breath like it really plagued him thta he had to take care of me or watch me. I was as afraid of him as I was of the bear.

The next thing I knew, someone was hustling me into a car and I was being driven away to a foster home. It had been decided that my family couldn't-or wouldn't- take care of me. I was strangely relieved and yet still frightened as I had no idea where I was going. (I guess I was feeling that no where could have been worse! But they let me take my dog with me; I guess it was the only family member that mattered. She was a large hound type dog.

Remember when my blog was about household fix up? I promise that will return soon. I actually mowed part of the lawn this afternoon. That felt great! Except for drawing a little on the computer, I really can't see well enough to make images in my studio. Let's hope for a speedy eye resolution! (Although, oddly, I feel like I'm seeing a bit better today. Go figure.)

Hallucination #3 (How often do You think about Paul Bunyan?)

(Okay! You can skip this postng if you think other peopl'e s dreams are boring! But you're not stopping me. You have to indulge the wounded warrior! But I think drug/me inspired dreams are different.)
I dreamed thta I went to look at a studio for rent. The buiding itself wasn't any great shakes, but the studio was cheap and had clean sheet-rocked walls with windows up high. In short, it was okay and seemed private. I think there were three or four other spaces available in the same building.
So I went outside with the woman who was showing me the studio and althought it was night time (in my dream as well as "real" time) the sky was all sort of lit up and a funny yellowish color; the way it sometimes looks if it's going to snow and it was cold. We were standing in a space between the studio building and a two story colonial looking house.
I asked the woman, "Are there any spooks or ghosts in this building>" She said, "No but Paul Bunyan does hang out here often". I looked up past the roof of the house and there was a man- no doubt Paul Bunyan!- about sixty feet tal and leaning on the roof of the house. He was wearing a big plaid shirt and a gigantic dark blue knit hat. (He llooked like the guy on the "Brawny" paper towel package before they "redid" him.)
He looked friendly enough, sort of smiling and leaning on crossed forearms; I'm not sure if I rented the studio or not.

More Visions!

The dreams just kept coming! I had this equally detailed dream the next night that I was friends with a Marie Antoinette-type person; a totally debauched, teenaged wealthy and/or royally connected young woman. We were all dressed in the height of fashion (for the eighteenth century) with sumptuous velvet and embridered gowns- no! creations. We were laced and corsetted and draped and arranged such that we could barely move throughout the apartments, but boy were we dressed! The rooms in my dream were very tall- like 15 foot ceilings, but not wide across so that alot of the space was narrowly vertical. The walls and giant doorways were adorned as much as us: there were elaborate burgundy and pumpking colored tapestries and woodwork. It was like living in a wedding cake.
We were apparently bored and stoned and we were looking for trouble. We had brought goats and large birds (some kind of emus or ostriches) indoors and we watching them try to climb on the furniture, which we had piled up on top of each other. And on top of these piles of animals and chairs and tables, we had placed some children of the "hired help". We were making the children into lamps by forcing them to hold candles and light bulbs in theire hands and on their heads. It was pretty splendid and really terrible!

Visual Interlude #1 (and Hallucinatory Story #1)

(I've decided that I need some sort of creative outlet while my eye heals. I can't really focus close up (or far away!) so maybe drawing on the computer is the answer. So here's offering #1. (I think I was influenced by that Tommy Bahama shower curtain we have, featured in a previos blog post).
Anyway, some fortunate combination of eye drops, pills, pain killers and anesthesia gases has prompted some very deep sleeps and some very odd "dreams". It started with the dream that looked like an early sixties French film...
I was at the beach, but in France in the early sixties. Somehow I was both watching this dream, and in it at the same time. Many people were walking on the boardwalk, all dressed in very stylish knee skimming skirts with large polka dots and lots of giant Jackie-O sunglasses with chiffon scraves in ice cream colors. Handbags on short strpas draped over forearms but with those elbow length gloves that ladies used to wear. The men were wearing fedoras and suits (remember: we're at the beach) with slim legged suit pants and their lapels were edged in contrasting colors. In brief, ebveryone was dressed to the nines. Large cars with fins were gliding past. There was an odd slowness to the way people were moving, sort of like we were all moving through a kind of medium, like the air was made of vaseline or jello. (Could be I'm seeing blurry...)
And then there was a man who somehow stopped time. He made a gesture or blinked his eyes and everyone was frozen in place except for him... and me. I somehow saw him and what he was doing. He wasn't aware of me observing him so he created miniature disasters, like knocking people's drinks over so they spilled on their perfectly confected clothes. He took several eggs and scrambled them together slightly and poured them on a woman's table so that her arm was coated in yolk. He kept performing tiny destuctive acts and then the affected people would wake up to these small transgressions, utterly unsure of what had happened and how. I guess I was like an overarching conscience, observing but not judging. The dream just looked great: so classically stylish and modern, in the best sense of the word.

Pah-Thetic (Puh-Thetic?) Any Guesses on Spelling?

All is not lost! I have discovered one thing that I can do that isn't too reliant upon good eye sight! I am able to sit on the ground and carefully peel away the sod from where I want flower beds. I don't exert any actual physical effort (I'm not supposed to lift anything heavier than ten pounds), I don't actually move the sods or rocks- just sort of leave them in demi-mounds to be carted away by others (Bob and Jules) and I don't even have to look carefully at what I'm removing as it's just grass. I've been a bit stir crazy and there are so many things I CAN'T do that locating one wholesome activity has saved me. And don't you worry. I have on an eye patch along with safety glasses!! But this picture is sort of pathetic, no? It's gardening for third world nomads on the steppes of Russia...

For Those That Are Interested

For those that are interested, this is what my right eye is seeing:

And this is what my left eye is seeing:

(I tried to get the two images to register on the same line, but I couldn't get the blog to understand what I wanted, so they're stacked!)

Anyway, you get the idea. Try looking out of the two very different views at once. No wonder my brain is a bit confused! I guess this should be "interesting" to me because I'm an artist and used to "seeing differently". Actually, it's a pain in the ass.

             



Death of a Favorite Coffee Cup

As if I haven't had enough foul luck. Bob and I were on our way to one of my many doctors visits and I absentmindedly set my coffee cup on the roof of the car and I think you can guess the rest. The worst part was that it smashed to its untimely death right at the end of our road where I cross to the dirt road. This necessitates my passing its pathetic shattered corpse every morning while walking Jules. (Or more honestly: while following the shape in front of me that I think are Bob and Jules as I'm still not seeing all that clearly).

So this morning, I picked up a large-ish shard to photograph and preserve as history. I really liked my Tony the Tiger "Hold that Tiger!" coffee cup. Rest in peace!

The Whole Grizzly Tale... Stop Me if You've Heard This Before

So what happens when you think you’re doing something good and you perform an action that should have a positive outcome? Chances are, something stupid happens and you have an ACCIDENT.

I had just such an unexpected occurrence last Sunday. Bob had tripped over a section of wire fencing that we were assembling to make a garden/dog fence (because it was lying on the ground) so I thought to prevent further possible injuries by rolling up said fence and moving it aside. Hahahahaha. The coiled fence sprang back and hit me full in the left eye.

I guess the initial best thing that can be said is that my right eye is my dominant one, so thank goodness for that! Bob rushed me to Waterbury hospital, where (again thanks goodness) they realized that my need for care was greater than their ability to provide and they transferred me to Yale New Haven hospital where a bunch of eye specialists were ready to jump to action.

And they did. I had emergency surgery to suture the great gaping hole I had created in my eye. I kept reminding everyone that I am an artist and that eyes are important but to me my eye is VERY VERY IMPORTANT. I needed ten stitches. (I have only once before had surgery- to remove my wisdom teeth waaaaaaaaay back when I was 11). We went home and fell into a very deep sleep.

The next day, I had a follow up visit, all looked good and they were already telling me that I could return to work and drive. Just take it easy, no heavy lifting but I’d be okay. And the prognosis was great: no talk of loosing my eye or loosing my eye sight permanently, in fact I was told I might have better vision as they were going to have to insert a artificial lens in my eye. This was to be several months off. (Of course, I’m wondering how I’m supposed to cope with/ adapt when I felt like I was looking through mayonnaise with light blotches in my left eye…)

But Tuesday night saw the left side of my face erupt into pain blossoms and I thought of three possibilities. Either I was having an allergic reaction to one of my (many) medications, or I had an infection in my eye or something totally (ironically) painful but unassociated (like a toothache) had decided that now was the time to explode.

It turns out (as far as I understand) a cataract that formed from the trauma to my eye was displacing fluid that then in turn pushed everything in my eye forward and it all expanded. Instant intense pain of a magnitude I cannot even begin to relate or comprehend. I spent from 8 in the morning until 1 in the afternoon at the doctor’s office, doubled over moaning as they gave me pills and drops and finally succeeded in reducing the pressure in my eye. I took codeine and fell into a profound sleep.

Because of this incident, they moved my second surgery up from a couple of months to Friday morning. That went well, and I now have some bionic lens that will outlast me (never need to worry about cataracts again… at least in that eye!).  I am not in pain, am anticipating being able to see (better) and am shuffling around in a one-contact lens in non-stereoscopic world, but I’m having righteous and bounteous dreams (more on that in another blog).

I do keep falling asleep and I suppose that part of this moribund state can be attributed to drugs, eye drops, pills, and my body recovering from an initial trauma and subsequent two surgeries under general anesthesia. (Again, I don’t really “do” medical stuff.)

I’m exhausted just telling this. I’m going to take a nap. Oh, and what have you been up to anyway?

Don't worry! That artist-made super hero eye patch is all mine! Yale New Haven doctors are off the hook on that one... but I did think I looked a little like a member of KISS!

Don't Try This At Home

Here I am ready to take a shower for the first time after my Great Eye Disaster  I won't go into all the grisly details, but suffice to to say that a brief but tragic encounter between my left eye and a piece of wire fencing made for a bad combination. I was actually ambulanced to Yale New Haven hospital for emergency eye surgery. Eight stitches to close a gaping hole torn in my lens... I will need a lens replacement surgery some two months from now. Oh and of course I essentially cannot see a f%$*ing thing with my left eye, except general movements and light. This really is awful beyond description!
So at least I'm clean (after that long delayed shower) and wearing my brand new eye patch, hoping that I look somewhat mysterious and dashing. But I feel like running around after everyone else and screaming, "Are you crazy? You're opening that box of oatmeal without eye protection??!?! Where are your safety goggles!" Let's hope this works out okay. It will cost a fortune and be a pretty circumscribed existence until
I get further treatment. They cannot, of course, guarantee that I'll ever have perfect vision (or even bad vision!). I am thinking of contacting Dale Chihuly and starting a club for one-eyed artists.

I'm not squinting in that picture- my eye (after trauma and surgery) was all purple and swollen shut. Today it's pink and red.

Artistic Blockage of the Worst Sort

I knew that moving was going to disrupt the artistic process of both Bob and myself but I had no idea just how monstrously! We spent so much time disassembling and boxing not only our house, but the contents of two studios (and those extensive gardens...) Then we camped out- sans studio space- in the dead of winter. Not to belabor the obvious, as laid out in excruciating detail in my previous blog postings, but moving is and has been hell. It also unseated a deep seated stability or sense of place so important to artists like us.
Some artists are paripatetic and seem to be able to create work on the fly. I hear about these artists, but perhaps they're like yetis or Big Foot- makes for a good story but they don't actually exist. I think a sense of place and a studio home base are essential ingredients for many artists.
So I'm kind of blocked. This has only occurred a few tragic times in my adult life. I realize with the deepest part of my being that this is a temporary blip in the bigger picture, but it sucks. The other day, I was feeling so strung out and melodramatic...
But I had a revelation or an epiphany, and I know that it probably seems obvious to anyone else, but we have to re-invent that sense of place here. So I got busy, not with emptying the thousandth box but with planting our garden. Quite literally for me, it's all about digging in the dirt and creating our environment.
I'm feeling so much better now; tired in that truly filthy, dirt under the fingernails, muscles aching from shovels impacting rocks way. But better.
By the way, that picture is of our main mixed border back at the old address. I guess we have a long way to go as that photo is of a garden that's been under cultivation for eighteen years! But I'm psyched,

What Is It? (Number Five)

We haven't played "What is it?" in quite some time, and that's not because we stopped locating mysteries around the house. On the contrary, household mysteries keep turning up or they quietly reassert themselves. Like todays puzzle: this curious double switch is right in the middle of the kitchen counter.

Periodically, I wonder what it does or more saliently, what it did as it is not connected or attached to any function in our house. It announces itself as a "Nutone" and it has a dial that has numbers which would signify a certain precise application.
Perhaps when we switch it from one position to another, a garage door miraculously opens in Peoria. Or the lights dim dramatically in a dining room in upstate New York. Anyone ever see anything like it?

Dogs and Gardens- Part 1 (Excavations Anyone?)

This bit of lunar terrain is compliments of Jules, our accomplished canine sub-contactor. He has so many uncategorizable talents!
Jules discovered the tip of a rock. That led to some serious digging and a volley of rapturous barking: either he was attempting to shout the rock out of the ground, or he was singing some dog rah-rah cheerleading song to bouy his spirits during the hard work of destroying our back yard. He's been pretty mum about his rationale. In any event he managed to isolate this particular stone and he now guards it as if it is very special indeed. And this is not the first or only stone to so capture his affections. Ah! The inscrutability of the dog mind!
Bob has come up with a clever plan that we will test out today. We are going to have Jules focus on digging where we're clearing sods and planning a perennial border. (This is chain-gang type labor as documented in a previous posting as the rock population is legendary). Jules should be in seventh heaven and we'll have double dug beds... or we'll experiment with that low maintainence lunar theme when the blasted yard is laid to waste.